the tempest, seven months later

by walterdoege

a spring tempest…the rains and winds throwing away some arrangement in my house…my safe corner at my chair room I guess was so secure, the more secure, the most safe place in universe…my chair remains in the same place, in the same corner, near a spot light…to read, write, listen music with headphones, writng some hand writings, avulse manuscripts, newspapers clips, watching some souvenirs, watching through the windows some wisdom everyday…I survived…I keep living well…somethings were lost…some books, some souvenirs, some little gifts…some imagined safety…i deal well at the tempest, and after…recovery, rebuilding…keeping me on the track as soon as I could…past waters move mills…we are all hystorical beings…the past is somehow alive in the present time…and the future too, as hope, project, invention, reinvention, desire, and hard, very hard daily work…at past week a book hill falled, and I found some paintures of my mother, one book of my father…some manuscripts and some reveries of days gone by…some wishes for a better future…for all the people…for all the world…for me too…my chair is surrounded of books, CDs and Long Plays vynil…some music devices…and love…the main lounge of my house is composed of hills and mountains of books…I feel like a wall,  good boundaries, I sense some security near them…and near you…without you, why should I keep writing?…i don’t write about you…I write for you…searching for dialogue…and I’ve found lovely conversations…so lovely friends…and lovely friendship is my main gift…because in the core and realm of a lovely friendship, my heart is trustful in human goodness…and the near tempests touch me in the same chair, perhaps some new hills of books…even unkind tempests, I stand always in kind loveliness and sweet solitude…with you, I am never alone…we are never alone…this is our home, just stay alive in, live joyously and confident…daily work…daily bread